During my studies it became apparent that the mysterious prehistoric stone circles that litter the British countryside are widely considered to be English. However the ancient constructors of these sites were the ancestors of the Celtic peoples (of which little is known but much is surmised), the like of which now inhabit Wales. And it is here that, often fragmentary or obscured, there is the greatest concentration of these structures. Of Stonehenge much has been written even excluding the fantastic and the unscientific, and there will inevitably be more written. For it is here that the most complex arrangement of stones survives, and for those armed with nought but a compass, pencil, paper and rule should be able to decipher the secrets. I had tasked myself to reveal the depths of the older and more fragmentary remains that lie high on the moorlands or hidden within the forests of Wales. Are they astronomical or agricultural; ritual or practical? And importantly for me, were they anyway linked? Logical deduction should reveal the positions of lost attendant monoliths and careful examination of the neighbouring land would provide clues to the former extent of these pagan artifices. Of what I discovered in one spring and summer, some was new to science whilst the rest I reluctantly reveal as a warning to those who wish to adopt the same thread of studies as myself. Why were these circles constructed where they were? Various bizarre, pseudo-scientific, or misguided traditional explanations have been expounded, but the truth as I discovered was stranger, but rather down to earth, if you will excuse the pun.

I was meticulous with my examinations of these sites. Apart from the obvious examination of the now lichen encrusted and pitted rocks to determine their exact source strata, for this choice may have explained their purpose, and physical precise measurements of the sites, I also took deep soil samples to hypothesise on the ancient climes, and more importantly plotted the species of vegetation within the circles and in the vicinity. Almost exclusively, in Wales at least, the area within and around the stones was devoid of plants apart from coarse grasses, the type that will normally grow in the most wild and barren areas where the soil is thin and devoid of nutrients which only the hardiest breeds of sheep can survive on, and few other plants can compete for space. More significantly I found that just outside the circles grew a type of vine which I identified as Dia cardifolia, known commonly as the Devil’s Heart  due to the shape of its leaves, and as I discovered, from its propensity to exude a viscous sap when damaged. This sap soon developed a deep red colouration due to chemical oxidation on contact with the air. This plant spreads by creeping subterranean rhizomes which snake insidiously outwards from a central point resulting in a growth pattern resembling the fairy rings of toadstools. As it extends its reach it leeches all nutrients out of the soil rendering it unsuitable for supporting none but the toughest of weeds.

The other remarkable discovery of these rings was that these ancient monuments to unknown deities were still in use. Hidden by, or under, the stones were tokens and accessories left behind after ceremonies. Here would be a small amulet carefully obscured but deliberately positioned, at the next stone a piece of ribbon with a complex and meaningful knot, and at the next evidence that some flowers had been placed there. The clues were there, but gave no hint as to who these latter day pagans were. I resolved to find out more of these rites, but first needed to compile my findings and research more. The vine I found was also known poetically as Bleeding Virgin, again due to its sticky exudates. I concluded that the positioning of the stone circles was actually dictated by the clearing of vegetation by this singular plant, and thus the size of the circles was determined by the spread of the vine. This area varied according to how far the plant could spread its roots. Sometimes it would burn itself out with a patch just a few feet across with a single standing stone in the centre, but sometimes the clearance was over 100 yards wide. One Flora I consulted suggested that the exudates from damaged foliage actually inhibited the germination of seeds from other plant species, and the soil remained poisonous forevermore.

So how did these monoliths still have meaning for civilised peoples with the benefits of being born into modern civilised communities? I chose a circle a few miles north of Llanidloes on the exposed flat summit of Bryn y Fan that showed signs of very recent activity when I was had visited. That date was 5th of February, three days after the ancient feast day of Imbolc; the day that marks the passage from Winter into Spring and sometimes goes by the Day of the Lactation of the Sheep, and appropriated bt the Church as Candlemas. I resolved to visit the site on the said date the next year.

Having dressed suitably for a February’s night excursion on foot, I arrived at 8pm and the site was empty, but well lit by a full moon which had risen perhaps two hours earlier. It was a shame that this moon would drown out some of the paler stars in the cloudless sky, for I could have happily spent my time as spectator to the heavens. How long would I have to wait, and who would turn up? Would the worshippers, for I had assumed that they were, be bohemian city dwellers, either disillusioned with modern life or indulging in the latest fad, who ventured out into the countryside just for these rites? Or would they be a coven of white witches who would cast off their clothes and dance naked and uninhibited within the circle? At about 10pm I realised that people were approaching from all directions. I had taken for granted they would use cars to get close to this remote spot, and had been listening for the sound of the motors. But it seems they had all arrived on foot. If they had driven they must have parked their cars many miles away and made their way silently across the land following the old cattle tracks that criss-crossed the heath land. From a concealed point I watched as they arrived and stood silently round the stones. They seemed to be a mix of people, male and female, young and old, dressed in suits or in working clothes. Not a word was spoken. More and more arrived and no one feature would define them as a group. As I watched I was suddenly felt someone grab my collar firmly from behind and push me forward towards the circle. He was a thick-set fellow, with an impassive face; side whiskers, a clothe cap and agricultural worker’s overalls. It was obvious he come straight from the cattle shed without washing or changing. I decided not to resist, for he was obviously capable of persuading me otherwise, and I was still curious about the ceremony. As I approached I look down at my own clothing and noticed, in the bright moonlight, that I must have been waiting in a clump of the vine, for its red sap smeared my coat and trousers. I was pushed towards the centre of the circle and only then did the participants in the ritual start to move in an anticlockwise direction whilst chanting in low tones words from an ancient tongue that I did not recognise. They words they sang ran into each other, and the words if indeed they were words, were alien to me. However the tone of the chant, as it rose up and down in volume, developed a certain harshness. Then at some prompt unseen by me they all stopped, faced me and a man in a dark coat and tall hat pointed at me and in a clear resonant voice said “Behold the Virgin”. What happened next is still unclear; my conscious mind has erased it from my memory for the sake of my sanity. I do remember metal implements, pointed and sharp, that glinted in the moonlight being revealed, and they all approached me chanting loudly now. I looked down at my ‘blood-stained’ clothes and declaring, pleading even, that I was not a virgin. My next recollection is that of looking down at my dismembered body lying on a central stone that must have been used as some form of diabolical altar. Strangely, though my conscious mind was now divorced from my earthly body I still felt complete. The pagans now still stood in an arc around me, but parted as a new participant strode across the heath; a figure whose appearance was most dominating and purposeful. But that was not what made him most remarkable. He moved with a swiftly without noticeable effort, leaving a dark miasma in his wake. Apart from his height, he was in excess of 7 foot tall, what stood out most were his eyes, glowing piercingly reddish in the dark, and his horns, magnificent and curved elegantly backwards. There seemed to be darkness exuding from him; even the moon seemed to dim in his presence. He paused before my remains, let out a bellow of anger that would have cowed the most resilient man, and strode off as purposefully as he had arrived. The worshippers to a man or woman looked lost, having failed their infernal master. They stumbled and bumped into each other as if in a daze before making their way back whence they came, slowly, silently and heads bowed.

Had I been a virgin I now know I would have been claimed by that frightful being and carried away for whatever purpose he had had in mind for my soul. But at least I would have had purpose. In the event, I am now condemned to watch over this circle, ceremony after ceremony, year after year, perhaps for eternity. I do now know why that plant is called Virgins Blood.